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Why is it...

Why is a magazine always more interesting when your friend is poring over it? For that matter, when you stop at one of those little ricketey jewellery shops that dot M G's and Brigades, why is it that you're suddenly surrounded by an inquisitive crowd of men, women, boys and girls? I guess that's just human nature. Or like that other universal law of nature -- when you desperately need to flag down an autorickshaw, you won't find a single one and the roads will be emptier than the Sahara during a dust-storm. But when you don't want an auto, you'll find those little black and yellow beetles-on-three-wheels sidle past you with the drivers giving you the onceover through their rear view mirrors!

But then when things go wrong, the day begins wrong. You wake up with the feeling that you've had a terribly embarrassing dream in which you've done rather weird things/stuff that you wouldn't admit to in the waking world. Then the coffee filter refuses to well, filter. So you end up drinking coffee that's got lotsa sludge. Once you're past that and resigned to a bad day, you glance at the clock and horrors! you're running an hour late for work.

When you get to office, you know it's not going to be your day -- it's time to discuss stories for your magazine (and none of those fantastic ideas you suggested) are getting a dekko even! You're feeling undervalued, totally depressed and seriously unhappy.

So be honest, is it life or is it just me?

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I am walking in the neighbourhood park.
Not for pleasure, but exercise.
I am striding along, trying not to puff and pant.
Thinking of those damn 10,000-steps-a-day that I never seem to do.
Thinking that I must get my cardio rate up, get those endorphins going.
Walking and trying to avoid the others on the path.
The burqa-clad women around me talk noisily,
Some are there to walk seriously, but most are not.
They sit there, like beady-eyed beetles, watching, looking, and to my mind, judging.
So do the men.
No, let me rephrase that.
Many people in the park are there simply because they have nothing else to do.
Or perhaps this is where they see life pass them by.
Where they see what ifs and what might have beens.
Where they see happiness that could have been theirs.
Where they see lives shaped by both circumstance and choice.

In the park, the ones who are not walking desultorily, chat and hang around.
The serious runners impatiently overtake the rest of us slower mortals.
Suddenly, a vo…